


Space and Acceptance

by TashanaAmbrosia



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Kate and Seth have a lot of feelings, Post Season 3, Post-Amaru (From Dusk Till Dawn), both characters dealing with what's gone before, pre-robbery, spoilers as to what happened with Amaru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9835142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashanaAmbrosia/pseuds/TashanaAmbrosia
Summary: Okay this was a multi-prompt post from Tumblr and it kinda ran away from me. I ran some edits on it and I really like how this turned out. I really hope you guys like it.Kate and Seth dealing with post-Amaru but pre-robbery. This is angsty, with some feels and healing. Just a quick look into their heads.Original prompts:The empty space that can’t be breached between you in bed; Exhausted numbness after crying; The moment when reality starts to make sense again; Someone accepting the bad parts of you without judging





	

**Disclaimer:** I do not own From Dusk ‘Til Dawn, nor am I gaining profit from this story. These characters belong to the authors of their original creation and their re-imagining.

 

**Space and Acceptance**

 

He’s been watching her for hours and he honestly should be sleeping, because he’s tired to the bone. The ache’s deep, the adrenaline’s worn off and all he’s left with is the exhaustion ‘cause he’s been running since the prison with barely a lick of sleep and his body is screaming for rest, but he keeps starting at the four feet of space between him and the girl in his clothes. Her back is to him, body posture stiff, but the crying has finally stopped. Her sobs had filled the room for a measure a time that he doesn’t want to think about, but now there is only silence. He wants to reach for her, but the last time that he attempted to touch her she screamed out in agony, like the skin to skin contact had caused her pain, maybe it had. It’s only four feet, but the distance feels impassable.

She can feel the air moving in and out of her nose, passages so dry that the exchange of breath stings all the way to her eye sockets. And her eyes burn, the salt from earlier shed tears makes her eyelids stick together. It’s uncomfortable to open her eyes, but she doesn’t want them to close for too long, it’s a horror show when they stay closed. Her heart hurts; both emotionally, because she does remember every atrocity that was committed with her body, and physically, because until just a few moments ago it felt like it was beating too hard to continue. Now her body feels as heavy as lead, which is frustrating because her mind isn’t being pushed down and she feels like she should move her body, reclaim it somehow. She’s tired to the bone and honestly she should be sleeping but she feels him watching her.

She rolls over and it’s oddly comforting that he is actually watching her. His blood is in her veins; he had saved her and he was the first thing that she saw when she came to on the floor of that church. She hears a phrase, ‘Blood is the conduit of the soul’ rattling around in in her head and doesn’t know when she heard or if it’s just a stolen memory. She has so many stolen memories, but most of them aren’t clear enough for her to understand. She sees flashes when she closes her eyes and feels those emotions that she knows aren’t really hers. She feels love for a queen from a woman, who fought her whole life; she feels guilt over watching herself get shot from a brother, who she loves; she feels pain from seeing the hatred in her eyes from a man, who couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let him save her; and she feels…and she feels love? She doesn’t know how it could be anything else because it’s so overwhelming and so depthless that she feels like she could drown in it all from a man, who’s fought for her and with her. The man who’s keeping vigil over her, sitting beside her; the man who’s been quietly at her side, since he picked her up from the floor of the church a second time.

She keeps the empty space between them, not sure if she wants to be any closer. She knows logically that it’s only been months since they shared a bed in Mexico, but it feels like years have passed and the distance seems impassable. Part of her wants to reach out to him, feel his heated skin beneath her palms, but part of her is irrationally afraid if their skin touches it’ll hurt him. She wants to believe that it’s finally over, that this isn’t another nightmare being projected to keep her conscious under control, but it’s so hard. He shifts on the bed, no closer to her, but they're parallel now facing each other. Her hand is shaking as she extends her arm towards him, and while he doesn’t move, his eyes close momentarily as her fingers trace the bite scars that hide beneath the tattoo on his neck. She sighs audibly when his face doesn’t contort in pain and his dark eyes open, looking at her with a gentleness that she remembers from a long forgotten night under a neon ‘vacante’ sign.

He is as still as he can be, but when her hand retracts he takes a risk and moves closer to her on the bed. Three feet in-between them now; his eyes ask her if this this is alright and she moves closer, assuring him that it is. There is only a foot between them and it should stay that way. He hurt her. He hurt her over and over and over. He stole her away from her good life, got her family killed, dragged her into hell, leeched off of her good nature, and abandoned her on the side of the road. He put her on a path that caused her death and all the pain that she went through was his fault. He closes his eyes because he can’t look at her; he doesn’t deserve to look at her. He grinds his teeth together and breathes in deep the scent of his soap on her skin. He should have gotten the honey-almond stuff she liked so much. Why hadn’t he planned ahead? 

If he’s honest, he never really believed that he could save her and he hadn’t, she saved herself, saved all of them. He’s a thief; brother of a blood-sucker and he isn’t a hero. He doesn’t…

Her hands are on him, as she draws them together. His arms tighten around her reflexively as he buries his nose in her hair. He doesn’t deserve… 

Her lips burn a message into his flesh, “I forgive you.” He doesn’t deserve her forgiveness and yet she gives it so freely. His tears run down his cheeks as they in lay in the quiet, finding solace in the closeness and eventually they both surrender to sleep.


End file.
